Spot's Birds
by bexlynne
Summary: "Anthony Higgins. The newsies calls me Race. You?" "The name's Spot. Spot Conlon." A series of oneshots telling the story of Spot and Racetrack's friendship and how they met, continuing on through the strike. Rated T for violence mentioned. Cover art by me!
1. Chapter 1

_Summer, 1892_

* * *

Racetrack hunched his shoulders and turned up the collar of his borrowed coat. Things were doing slightly better these days. It had been two weeks since he joined the newsies. He had become enough of a fixture that folks no longer asked nosy questions. He liked it that way. He didn't appreciate people poking around where they didn't belong. His business was his business. And if the Manhattan leader didn't like him heading off to Brooklyn at nine o' clock at night, then he could just shut it and leave him alone. Anthony Higgins was done with people telling him what to do. So he kept his head down, turned up his collar against the warm summer rain, and trudged across the Brooklyn bridge.

He was well into Brooklyn, not paying much attention to his surroundings, when an unknown voice claimed his attention. "Hey!"

Race's head jerked up, his brown eyes scanning the darkness for the speaker. He knew Brooklyn like the back of his hand, and it was only a matter of time before he spotted the kid in the alleyway.

"Watcha doin' on Brooklyn turf?" the kid asked, trying to make his voice sound deeper than it was.

Race laughed at his pathetic attempt.

 _The kid has ta be new at this._ Probably one of the younger Brooklyn boys, a background newsie trying to rise to the top by soaking a lost 'Hattan kid. Well, his plan had a few flaws. Race was far from lost, and his plans for the night did not include getting soaked.

"What's it to ya?" Race demanded, shoving his hands in his pockets.

The kid stepped into the light, crossing his arms over his chest. He was a scrawny little thing, about Race's age, with blond hair shoved under a cap and strange, silver-blue eyes. He wore a patched, faded grey shirt and brown trousers. A slingshot was tucked in at his hip, and he wore a scowl on his face. "I could soak ya right now," he threatened.

Race leaned easily against the brick storefront at his back, sizing the kid up. "I could soak you, too," he pointed out. He was confident he could, too, unless the Brooklyn kid had backup somewhere.

The kid's scowl deepened. "What's a 'Hattaner doin' in Brooklyn this time a' night?" he demanded.

Race's cocky grin disappeared, ready to set this kid straight. "First, I ain't from 'Hattan," he said. "I'se Brooklyn born an' raised, same as you. And second, I'm tryin' ta meet me sistahs. I left home 'bout two weeks ago, but they'se still stuck there."

The kid looked him up and down. "What's ya name?" he questioned, his voice losing some of its hostility.

 _Good_. _Now maybe I can get outta here without gettin' in a fight. The girls'd worry if I showed up at the winda with a black eye._

"Anthony Higgins. The newsies calls me Race. You?"

The kid shrugged, jumping down from his perch. "The name's Spot. Spot Conlon."

Race grinned. "What makes ya Brooklyn's border patrol, Spot?" he asked.

Spot glared at him. _Brooklyn's bordah patrol? Who does he think he is?_ "

I'se gonna be the leadah one day," he said. "I wanna know every inch a' my borough when that happens."

 _That oughta set him straight. Maybe now he'll keep that smart mouth undah control._

 _Future leader. He must be the kid they'se trainin' up._ Race was familiar enough with Brooklyn policies to know that the current leader started training up a kid to take his place years before he actually stepped down. Spot must be that kid.

"Fair enough," Race said, sticking a cigar in his mouth. "Ya want one?" he offered.

Spot shook his head. _Time ta find out more about this kid. See what makes 'im tick._ Young as he was, he was an expert at reading people. Consider it the product of being on the streets for four years.

"Ya said ya had sistahs at home?" he questioned.

"Yeah," Race said, lighting his cigar. "One older, one youngah. You?"

Spot ignored the question, asking one of his own instead. "How old are ya?"

"Nine."

"Same as me," Spot remarked, turning this new information over in his head. He had a quick, cunning mind, and he put it to action now.

 _The kid's a newsie at nine years old, but he's still got family in Brooklyn. He wants ta keep in touch with 'em, too- or at least the sistahs. Must be his folks he's runnin' away from, then. He ain't been a newsie for long, 'cause he's still usin' his old name._

Spot had been a newsie for four years now and he barely recognized his given name anymore, much less answered to it. He disliked the cockiness of this kid.

 _Who does he think he is, swaggerin' into Brooklyn like he owns the place? Still, it would be nice to have an ally in 'Hattan..._

"Awright, Race, I'll cut ya a deal," Spot said. "I gives ya passage inta Brooklyn, but every time ya comes through, you'se gotta give me the news from 'Hattan. I'se gonna be the leadah one day, and I likes knowin' what's goin' on in other boroughs. Do we gotta deal?"

Racetrack thought this over. "Deal," he said, spitting into his palm.

 _It'll be worth it in the long run. Sure, it'll be a pain ta track this kid down every time I visit home, but now I can go anywhere I want. 'Sides, it'll be nice ta have an ally in Brooklyn._

Spot spat in his, and they shook on it.

* * *

 **(A/N): Hey everybody! This story is going to be a series of oneshots about the friendship between Spot and Race. Some of you may have read my first Spot Conlon story, Rules of Brooklyn (and if you haven't you should go check it out!). I got a request on that story that I write more stories with my characterization of Spot, and since I've been a major Spot Conlon girl from the moment I saw Newsies. Special shoutout to my newsie friends Flash and Trip for encouraging me to write this story, and to SomedayonBroadway for being an amazing friend and an equally amazing writer. You should go check out her stories, they're truly amazing.**

 **Please tell me what you thought of this story in a review! I want to hear your thoughts, comments, constructive criticism, and requests! They all help me grow as a writer.**

 **Read, review, favorite, follow, and keep carryin' the banner! Love ya!**

 **-Peggs**


	2. Chapter 2

_Autumn, 1892_

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"Heya, Spot," Race greeted as he passed by.

Spot scowled. That kid was _still_ hanging around. Spot hated to admit it, but this deal wasn't working out the way he had planned. In his mind, the Italian boy would make a hasty promise and change his mind a few weeks later. Then Spot would have the upper hand. But they had made their deal months ago, and Race was still faithfully coming to Brooklyn whenever he pleased, bringing a piece of information with him each time.

 _Not that the information's any good,_ Spot thought bitterly. Shockingly, a ten-year-old kid didn't know much about the inner workings of 'Hattan. Spot kicked at a loose stone in his path, glaring at Race's retreating back. _This plan was supposta help me prove myself ta Knockout. Good thing I didn't tell him nothin' 'bout it, otha'wise I'se'd be the laughin'stock a' Brooklyn. Then I'd nevah be the leadah._

He got to his feet with a scowl, starting off after Racetrack. It was about time he found out what the kid was up to... once and for all.

* * *

Race made his way down to the Italian district. Ducking down a narrow side alley between two tenement buildings, he scaled the fire escape and crawled over to a window on the fourth floor. He had just cracked the window open a few inches when he noticed something inside that made him freeze.

A pair of dirty, worn-out work boots had been kicked unceremoniously into a corner near the door. _No, no, no. Why are Papa's boots on the floor? He shouldn't be here, the factories don't let out 'til seven!_ Race's dark eyes darted around the apartment, taking in details he hadn't noticed before. The faded cap resting on the table, the dark blue coat hanging by the door, the way no one sat in the living room talking like they normally would in the evenings. _It's Sunday, ya idiot. The factory men don't work on Sundays._

He started to lower himself back through the iron grate, but the sound of breaking glass through the still-open window made him flinch. Crouched in the shadows below the window sill, he saw a girl in a white nightgown run from the kitchen into the sitting room, a smaller girl clinging tight to her hand. _Josie and Bella_ , Race thought. Josie lifted the edge of the bedspread and coaxed Bella under before diving under herself.

"Tony!" a woman's voice screamed. Begged, more like it. Race felt his stomach so a familiar twist as Anthony Higgins senior staggered into the room. Marie followed him, grabbing his arm before he could make it to the bed. The man raised his hand to hit her, and Racetrack squeezed his eyes shut.

A hand on his shoulder startled him, and he let out a yelp. "Shut up!" a voice hissed. "Ya want your old man ta hear us?"

Race forced his eyes to open, to focus. "Spot?"

"Yeah, it's me," Spot said, in that same harsh whisper. "Ya plannin' on stayin' up here all night, or can we get goin'?"

"How'd ya know where I was at?" Race demanded, allowing the other boy to pull him to his feet.

Spot gave one of his rare grins, his teeth flashing white in the near-darkness. "Brooklyn magic," he said.

In truth, he had been following Race from the moment he set foot in Brooklyn. He had seen him enter the Italian district and rightly guessed the 'Hattan kid was visiting his family. He had seen the two terrified girls in the tenement, one older than Race and one younger, but all three with the same dark hair and eyes. They looked too alike not to be siblings. He had suspected something from the start, but when the girls hid under the bed and Race crouched down under the window he was sure. He had seen it all before. The terrified kids, the protective mother, the drunk and angry father. He had seen it all before.

Within minutes, his battle-ready brain had concocted a plan. Get Race out of there, take him out for a few hours to get his mind off of things, and yes, make friends with the 'Hattan kid.

* * *

Race glanced around at the seedy-looking bar Spot had brought him to. "The owner knows us Brooklyn kids," Spot said by way of explanation. "He's willin' ta look the othah way when kids sneak in. The way he sees things, money is money no mattah where it comes from."

Race nodded, dropping into the seat across from Spot. "So whatcha wanna do?" he asked.

Spot leaned back in his chair, studying him for a minute. The kid was still a little jumpy, and his dark eyes were wide and alert.

 _I know what he's thinkin' right about now,_ Spot thought. _He's beatin' hisself up ovah leavin' his ma and sistahs behind. I'se gotta find some way to distract 'im, or he'll be dwellin' on this for days._

Spot distinctly remembered a day from a few years ago, when Knockout had come home to find him in a fury. He couldn't have been more than seven years old, but he was threatening anyone who looked at him funny, fists and feet flying, and the Brooklyn leader was having none of it. He had locked Spot out of the Lodge House with a slingshot and a bag of cans and bottles and let him shoot things until he calmed down.

It took half an hour for Knockout to coax the truth out of him. He had run into his father on the street that day. He was upset, he was angry, he was terrified his father would find him again, and Knockout had provided a distraction, something to occupy his mind.

And now he would do the same for Race. "Ya ever play poker?" he asked, reaching for the deck of cards he always had in his pocket. Race shook his head. Spot grinned. "How's about I teach ya?"

* * *

 **(A/N): Hey guys! Sorry this chapter took so long! I hope it was worth it. :) Special thanks to Booklover115 and my guest reviewer for reviewing, to SomedayonBroadway for letting me bounce ideas off her and being all-around amazing and reviewing everything I write, and to WordyAF for reviewing this story and writing tons of awesome ones of her own! I've been a fan of hers for awhile now, and it made my day when I found out she had reviewed this story!**

 **If you guys have any requests for future chapters please let me know! There are a few chapters to go before the strike, and I would love some ideas. If you read this story and liked it please drop me a review! Love ya!**

 **-Peggs**


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